


Finding Joseph Liebgott

by Impala_Chick



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: 1940s, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Missing Persons, Phone Calls & Telephones, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Reporter David Webster, Taxi Driver Joseph Liebgott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:41:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21554044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/pseuds/Impala_Chick
Summary: The year is 1947. David finds out from Liebgott's mother that he's been missing for nearly two years. Webster's working for a newspaper at the time and puts his reporting skills to work to find him.
Relationships: Joseph Liebgott/David Kenyon Webster, Joseph Liebgott/Kenyon Webster
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41
Collections: Loose Lips Sink Ships Prompt Meme





	Finding Joseph Liebgott

**Author's Note:**

> For the Loose Lips Sink Ships prompt: _Postwar, Liebgott disappears for a few years and not even his friends and family can find him. Webster's working for a newspaper at the time and puts his reporting skills to work to find him._
> 
> I love this premise! I'm only sorry I couldn't spend more time on it. Maybe a follow-up is in order in the future.
> 
> This is based on the fictionalized Band of Brothers characters and not the real life people. No disrespect intended.

“L.A. Times, this is Webster,” he says tersely. He’s got a deadline in about 30 minutes, he just cleared the paper jam from the typewriter, and he does not have time to entertain whomever it is that his calling him.

“Uh, David Webster? From the 101st?” A boisterous female voice says.

“Who is asking?” David shoots back, worried. When he first got back from the War, there were reporters who would ask for him to give an interview about the 101st. He doesn’t make statements anymore. Talking about it just reminds him of all that was lost.

“Joseph Liebgott’s mother. I know you were in the 101st with him.”

David’s breath catches in his throat. He can only think of one reason why Liebgott’s mother would call him, and it’s a bad one. He fights to keep his voice even when he says, “Yeah, I did.”

“He’s missing,” she says solemnly. 

David lets out a sigh of relief without meaning too. If he’s missing, that doesn’t mean he’s dead. Runaways usually they turn up sooner or later. Families that report missing family members to the Times sometimes call in days or months later, saying their loved one finally got in touch with them again.

“Ma’am, how long has he been missing?” David asks dutifully. Missing persons isn’t his beat, but he can pass on the information. They can print Joe’s name in the paper and if Joe sees it, he’ll know to call his Mom. David is a bit surprised that Joe ran away, considering he had a great big plan worked out for after the war. What had he said again? A taxi cab, a wife, and a bunch of baby Liebgotts.

“It will be two years this Friday,” Mrs. Liebgott says. 

That’s a lot longer than David expected. 

“Wait, when did you see him last?” David asks. He can’t help the panic that creeps into his voice. 

“He kissed me on the cheek and then left for work. I watched him out the kitchen window. He got in his taxi and drove off, just like he did every morning,” she explained.

“Was he angry? Sad?” 

“No, no. I didn’t even see him pack a bag or anything. I know you’re a reporter, I thought maybe you could look into this. Help me find my son.” She’s practically begging, but there’s no need for her to. David feels too anxious about what might have happened to Joe to walk away now.

David’s looming deadline is long forgotten, because now his mind is spinning with all the leads he has to follow. He gets Mrs. Liebgott’s personal information and tries to sound reassuring before he hangs up the phone. 

The first thing he does is call his reporter contact over at the New York Times. There haven’t been any Liebgotts in the obituaries in the past two years, so he gets a phone number for Liebgott’s cab company. 

No one answers, so he calls Mount Sinai hospital, Bellevue Hospital, and Creedmoor Asylum. None of them have any record of a Joseph Liebgott. He’s thankful those leads don’t pan out.

He keeps bothering the cab company until their foreman picks up the phone. There’s a lot of grunting and groaning on the other end of the line, but he eventually locates Liebgott’s record.

“Says here he owned his cab. And it’s not here, so presumably he took it with him. And his last check is still here, he didn’t even pick it up. Should I mail it?”

“Sure,” David says robotically before hanging up. At least he got the license plate number of Liebgott’s cab.

The Department of Taxation and Finance within the Secretary of State’s office is already closed for the day, but he’ll be able to call them tomorrow and possibly get more information about Liebgott’s vehicle. 

When he finally puts the phone back into its cradle, he looks down at his abandoned article with a heavy sigh. He hammers out a half-assed conclusion and rips the paper from the typewriter. He slides it into his boss’ mailbox without even a second-thought. His heart-stopping coverage of the new car company, Ferrari, isn’t going to land on the front page so he’s not overly concerned about the quality of the article. He’s got something much more important to focus on now, anyway.

As the days march on, David starts to think that Liebgott doesn’t want to be found. He seems to have left no trace in New York, and David is convinced he left the state. David’s latest plan involves examining New England newspapers, hoping to catch a reference to a taxi cab business owned by Joseph Liebgott.

His eyes start to hurt from going through microfiche ads and obituaries from archived New England papers down in the basement. The Newport Daily News proves to be a dead end, as does the Daily Hampshire Gazette and the Bangor Daily News. David knows that Liebogott could very easily live in those states without any interaction with his local newspaper, but he’s not sure what else to try short of calling each Secretary of State and asking about Joseph Liebgott.

Well, maybe that’s an idea. He calls around to see if a Joseph Liebgott has registered a taxi cab service. His reporter credentials make it easy enough for him to get straight answers. The one “Joseph Liebgott” he finds out about is a man who is much too old to be the Joe he’s looking for, so he quickly hangs up after offering the man a half-baked apology.

He widens his search to the southern States and keeps on digging through microfiche whenever he gets the chance. His secretary comments on the bags under his eyes, but David just mumbles about his loud as hell - and completely made up - neighbors before running off to the basement. 

Seven days after Mrs. Liebgott called him, he finally finds something worthwhile. David nearly cries from relief when he notices a tiny corner ad in the _Washington Star_.

__**Joseph Liebgott Taxi Cab Service**  
_Pick You Up Anytime and Take You Anywhere  
202-555-9873_

Washington, DC isn’t too far from New York. The ad was published about four months prior. There is no other identifying information within the newspaper, but it’s totally plausible that this ad was placed by the right Joseph Liebgott. 

David doesn’t waste any time. He writes down the number on a scrap of paper, dashes upstairs, and uses the rotary phone on his desk to make the call. The operator puts him through and then a familiar voice speaks in David’s ear. 

“Hello?” It’s Joe’s voice alright. “Anyone there? Look, if this is a crank fuckin’ call I’ll have you know that I-”

David momentarily forgets how to speak because it’s such a huge relief to hear his voice.

“Joe?” David finally says. 

“What?” He says gruffly. David can’t help but roll his eyes.

“It’s me, David Webster.”

There’s a long pause and David can’t even hear Joe breathing. Since there’s no dial tone, he assumes David hasn’t hung up. 

“Your mother is worried about you,” David tacks on hastily. 

“You talked to my mom?” Joe sounds pretty annoyed, but David can’t suppress the laugh that bubbles up from his throat. He tries to hold the phone away from his mouth, but he’s not very successful. 

“What’s so funny?” Joe presses. David can picture his face - eyes scrunched up, lips pressed together, arms crossed. 

“It’s just, we haven’t talked in nearly three years and the first thing you do is get mad that I talked to your mom. I’ll have you know that _she_ called _me_ ,” David explains as he presses the phone to his face again.

“Really?” Joe says. His voice sounds so small as he says that one word, and David feels his heart constrict in his chest.

“Yes, Joe. Your family misses you. They asked me to find you. Can you believe that?” David says gently. He’s not sure what Joe is feeling, but he has a sinking suspicion it isn’t anything good.

“I just didn’t think they would… I wanted a clean slate, ya know?” Joe sounds as if he’s choosing his words carefully.

“Well, did you get it? The clean slate?” 

“Sorta. DC ain’t half bad. Similar to New York with all these important guys in suits running around. The food ain’t as good, though.” Joe laughs and David laughs with him, and it’s almost like they’re just old friends who chat on the phone all the time.

“Your mom would like to hear from you Joe. Could you call her?” David hates to divert the conversation back to a more serious topic, but he doesn’t want to avoid the point of the call. It’s better if they just get that out of the way.

Joe sighs. “Yeah, I’ll call her. Okay?”

“Yeah, Joe. That’s great.” And then David is struck by a sudden thought. “Say, if I didn’t completely piss of my boss, I might be able to get out to DC sometime. Cover a congressional vote or something like that.”

There’s another long pause, and David starts to panic. Maybe he said the wrong thing. After all, Joe did run away from everything he’d ever known in order to get a fresh start. Maybe the last thing he wants is for an old war buddy to disrupt his life and -

“That would be alright, Web. I’ll drive you around.” Joe sounds like he’s smiling. 

“This is my desk phone, Joe. Call me anytime. I mean it. You don’t have to be lonely,” David blurts out in a rush. He doesn’t care how it sounds. He just knows that he doesn’t want Joe to disappear again.

“Yeah, I’ll call. Talk to you soon, Web.” Joe sounds fond, and David smiles.

“Bye, Joe.” David hangs up with a heavy feeling in his chest, but his smile doesn’t dissipate. David should have known that finding Joseph Liebgott is only the beginning of the story.


End file.
